Triage
by Eponymous Rose
Summary: Chorus is saved, but the Reds and Blues have vanished, transported into slipspace aboard the Sword of Charon, and Epsilon's final goodbye has just reached Carolina. Written for the prompt "kimball trying to calm carolina down after she founds out about epsilon" on Tumblr.


"We've really got to move forward," Carolina says. Her helmet is under her arm, hair falling messily from her ponytail. Her jaw is set. "We don't know where they are or what they're doing."

"We have our people tracing the signal," Kimball says. "Carolina, I think you should—"

"I'm saying we don't know where they are," Carolina says, brushing past her to stare over the shoulder of the young lieutenant currently monitoring internal comms, probably scaring ten years off her life in the process. "They could be anywhere."

"I just think—"

"The ship jumped to slipspace once they were on board."

"I'm aware, but I think you should—"

"I mean, it's entirely possible the drive malfunctioned and spit them out in the center of a star."

"Carolina—"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that's necessarily a dealbreaker."

Kimball rests a hand on Carolina's shoulder. "I think you need to take a breath."

Quiet for a moment, broken only by the lieutenant's nervous typing. Then Carolina covers Kimball's hand with her own and pushes it away. "I'm fine. I've lost friends before. I've lost family. I recovered then, and I'll recover now. I'm telling you, I don't have time for you following me around and making me your latest charity case. Do your number-crunchers know how far away they could be by now?"

Kimball tightens her grip on her shoulder. "Do you?"

Carolina actually glances away for a moment, as though she's preparing to ask someone a question. The instant of realization, of no-response, is plainly written across her face before she slams the mask back down. "That was a dirty trick."

"And you escalated the situation with that charity-case crack. You need to sit down." As she speaks, Kimball guides Carolina to a chair. "You haven't let any of our medics take a look at that gash down your back. We still don't know how badly you've been wounded."

"The sword itself cauterized the wound," Carolina says, but when she sits it's more of a controlled collapse, her knees giving out beneath her. Kimball keeps the hand on her shoulder, letting her steady herself against it. "I'm not losing blood or anything. I'll heal. It'll leave a nasty scar, but I have no shortage of those."

Kimball frowns down at her, then turns away. "I think they need more help in the main control room, lieutenant. Why don't you give them a hand?"

Carolina slumps forward, dangling her helmet from the tips of her fingers over the floor. "You don't need to send the comm officer away so we can have a heart-to-heart, Kimball."

The lieutenant clears her throat, stands awkwardly. "Uh," she says. "I just remembered I have a... a thing. A thing I have to... yeah." With those parting words, she leaves the room.

"Smooth," Carolina says.

"Church is gone," Kimball says, cautiously. "Do you understand that?"

Carolina rocks forward, just slightly, but doesn't lose her grip on her helmet. "Trust me, I got the message. Listen, I'm gonna go ahead and tell you right now: I do not do well with talking about feelings in closed spaces."

"I don't want to make you feel cornered," Kimball says.

"Or open spaces, really. It's mostly the feelings that are the problem."

"I'm just saying I think you need to take a breath or you're gonna pass out."

Carolina squints up at her from behind the hair falling over her eyes. "I'm not gonna pass out."

Kimball leans back against a desk, crossing her arms. "Metaphorically, then."

"What does that even mean?" Carolina picks at the seals on her helmet. "Look, Kimball—"

"Vanessa."

" _Kimball_. I don't understand what you stand to gain by this. I'm not a liability."

Vanessa shrugs. "Tucker told me that the last time you fell apart, Wash had to put a gun to your head to get you to slow down."

"Tucker's an ass," Carolina says, reflexively. "I'm not putting a gun to anyone's head. I'm trying to do my damn job without you hovering. I don't know if it's your fucking savior complex at work or what, helping the hopeless, but you need to back off."

"You know what you sound like?"

"I'm sure you'll be the first to tell me."

"You sound like someone who's starting to think about putting a gun to someone's head."

Carolina groans, leaning back in her seat for a moment. "Kimball. What the hell are you trying to accomplish here?"

"Triage," Kimball says.

"Triage?"

"Triage. Like I said, we still don't know how badly you've been wounded."

They're quiet for a moment; Kimball holds Carolina's gaze until she looks away. She stares at the ceiling for a while. Kimball watches her eyes flicker from point to point as she works something through in her mind. "It's like a gap," Carolina says at last, without looking down. "A hole. A space between words, between lines. I got used to having something there. Context. It's all missing."

"Yeah," Kimball says.

"It's not—" Carolina lets the helmet drop from her fingers, watches it roll across the uneven floor. "I couldn't protect him, in the end. Whatever he was, whatever we were to each other. I feel like I got my little brother killed because I wasn't paying attention."

"It's not your fault," Kimball says, because someone needs to say it. Carolina acknowledges her words with a little turn of her wrist. "He was already failing, waiting for a chance to make a difference before he went. You knew that."

"I did," Carolina says. "Trust me, I wasn't under any illusions that this was all gonna end well. I'm just saying, that's what it feels like. It's gonna hurt for a while, but some wounds are self-cauterizing. I'm not about to bleed out."

Kimball watches her for a moment, then uncrosses her arms, straightens to her feet. "Okay," she says.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Carolina leans forward to grab her helmet off the floor, puts it back on and locks the seals. "I passed triage?"

Kimball tilts her head to one side. "I'm gonna classify you as walking wounded. But I wanted you to know, you can talk to me about these things."

"I appreciate the thought—"

"Carolina." Kimball waits for her to make eye contact through her visor. "I grew up in the early days of a civil war. You can talk to me about these things."

"Right," Carolina says. She sounds a little chagrined. "Yeah. I... I might actually take you up on that."

"Good," says Kimball. "Let's find the Reds and Blues. And maybe get you some new armor, or at least some repairs. I think the massive gory slash across your back is starting to freak people out."

"It's not gory," Carolina says. "Cauterized, remember? Besides, it adds to the mysterious and terrifying persona I've worked so hard to cultivate."

Kimball turns to the lieutenant's console; in her haste to leave the room, she'd forgotten to log off. "Like I said, freaking people out."

Carolina comes up behind her, bumps her shoulder with her elbow. "Hey. Vanessa?"

"Yeah?"

Her voice, just for a moment, goes a little watery. "Thanks."

"Sure. You really think they came out of slipspace in the center of a star?"

Carolina snorts. "No. They're too lucky for that. Fuckers," she adds, fondly.

"All right," Kimball says, and cautiously rests a hand on Carolina's shoulder. "Then let's go bring them home."

Carolina takes a breath, puts her hand over Kimball's, and keeps it there. "Home," she says.


End file.
